


Hard to Believe

by PastelLimes



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Blood, Dewey deserves best husband/fiance/boyfriend award, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I am a terrible person, Miscarriage, Somewhat explicit miscarriage, This is not Happy, This is oddly written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelLimes/pseuds/PastelLimes
Summary: Dewey cupped her face in his warm, familiar and soft hands, telling her how marvelous of a mother she’d be and how terrific she will do in the face of parenthood. Her love for him allowed her to believe in every word that came from his lips.





	Hard to Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is not a happy story :") a little hurt/comfort can only do so much.  
> I wrote this based on an experience of a family member so what happens is only one type of m/c situation. I also did some research to make sure I got this as close to my family's experience. 
> 
> TW for:  
> -blood (gush)  
> -semi graphic miscarriage

_**hard to believe** _

Kit had been so excited when the pregnancy was confirmed. She beamed ear to ear, quickly rushing home to tell Dewey, nose in a book, about the wonderful news, the announcement they had been waiting to hear for a month, three weeks, and a day. Dewey stood, mouth agape, curling into a toothy smile. His hands clasped with her’s and he squealed in excitement, bursting with joy, choking on tears. Dewey was going to be a wonderful father, Kit knew it. However, she had her doubts about being a mother. Sure, she was calm and caring but Kit wondered if she’d be patient enough, be able to bear labor with her weak heart, or willing to keep her baby under wraps, to prevent kidnapping and worse; fire.

Dewey cupped her face in his warm, familiar and soft hands, telling her how marvelous of a mother she’d be and how terrific she will do in the face of parenthood. Her love for him allowed her to believe in every word that came from his lips.

They went on as normal, falling back into their routine; awake and catalog, chat and eat, catalog and sleep. Dewey boasted about his findings of gritty details of crimes against people he had a distaste for and Kit kept the minor, periodic bleeding a secret.

Once the more intense side effects came in, Kit began to worry more. Anxieties and frets built on her shoulders, weighing her down, causing her to drag her feet whenever she got out of her taxi or make her fingers slide along the spines of books longer than necessary to shelf them. She went to bed early, leaving Dewey alone in the library, and she rose even earlier, leaving Dewey to sleep until his alarm jolted him awake.

Kit kissed him goodbye once he woke up, helping himself to the coffee pot, and left for a volunteer meeting. She felt oddly nervous, a feeling she often felt but this time it was stronger. Kit rubbed the hem of her coat’s sleeve nervously as she slid into her taxi. An intense feeling of nausea came onto her as she started the engine.

She did not remember the drive to the meeting point.  

When she got there, many fellow volunteers worriedly pat her shoulder, offering her glasses of water or such.

“You look terribly pale…” Josephine said, patting Kit’s pallid hand, with a very distressed look on her face. Kit dismissed her, resisting the urge to throw up as a painful constriction erupted in her abdomen. “Maybe you should go home,” Josephine advised. Kit stood and nodded, the constriction worsening with each step as she grabbed the notes of the meeting from Widdershins and left.

Once she was in the safety of her taxi, Kit began to heave for breath, trying to relax. She was fine. This was her first pregnancy, and she was only nineteen weeks in; she was fine, she told herself. Deep within her heart, she wished her mother was in the passenger seat instead of books and files, to tell Kit what to do. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, Kit’s bottom lip trembled when a terrible feeling washed over her like an overpowering wave. Hurriedly, she ignited the engine and tore down the street back to the safety of the hotel and hopefully to the comfort of her fiance’s arms and her bed.

Parking behind the hotel, Kit got out and froze, half standing, one foot on the floor, the other still in her taxi. A shudder flooded her body as a terrible sensation jolted through her lower abdomen, like a terrible cramp or a kick. Before Kit could step fully out of her taxi, a warm, awful wetness slid down her inner thigh, soaking through her stockings. A burning sensation swept through her lower body before subsiding quickly. Kit looked down towards the end of her dress and felt a dizziness hit her when she noticed the stark, thin red-black trail ending at the top of her boot. Kit couldn’t stop the tears and stayed still, shaking, standing and weeping as the gush ended.

Awkwardly limping, Kit made her way to the catalog, careful to take easy steps and watch the floor behind her. She was lucky nothing got on the polished floors or stairwell down to the catalog. When she entered, a whole new waterfall of tears came. Kit sobbed as she shut the door behind her, letting herself sink to the floor despite the dull ache in her body. Restraining her tears was no use as she sat there, back to the door, knees to her chest, the trail beginning to dry on her leg and the mess beginning to dry as well.

“My love? Home already?” Dewey’s voice rang across the catalog, his voice, usually such a beacon to Kit, made Kit wail harder into her palms. She could not face him when he came around the corner of shelves. Hearing his footsteps falter, Kit trembled viciously. His hands held her shoulders, drawing her to him so that he could comfort her as she wept. Kit could hear his heartbeat, her ear pressed against his chest. His chest rose with a wavering inhale. Dewey was not stupid; he knew.

Dewey picked her up gently, cradling her in his stick-like arms, and carried her to their bathroom where he helped her remove her coat and pencil skirt. The skirt, her stockings, and undergarments were unsalvageable, so they were thrown away. Dewey grabbed her nightgown and a couple towels, making her comfortable. He took her hair down from her bun, braided it gently, and left it to drape over her shoulder. Dewey kissed her knuckles, brought her tea, and did not back away when Kit’s body forcefully ejected the rest, what remained, in another spurt of blood and fluids. He held her hand, both of them shaking with loss. He told her not to worry about the ruined towels or the splatter that ended up on the cabinets. Kit cried into the crook of his neck late into the night.

Kit told him she was sorry.

He silenced her with a heartfelt, broken-hearted kiss. It was not her fault, he told her.

This time, Kit found that hard to believe.


End file.
